Poetry Is Ordinary Language Raised To The

For My Oxford Degree, I Had To Translate French And German Philosophy (as It Turned Out, Descartes And Kant) At Sight Without A Dictionary. That Meant Germany For My First Summer Vacation, To Learn The Thorny Language On My Own.

I Have Published In 'the New Yorker,' 'holiday,' 'life,' 'mademoiselle,' 'american Heritage,' 'horizon,' 'the Ladies Home Journal,' 'the Kenyon Review,' 'the Sewanee Review,' 'poetry,' 'botteghe Oscure,' The 'atlantic Monthly,' 'harper's.'

Every Christmas Should Begin With The Sound Of Bells, And When I Was A Child Mine Always Did. But They Were Sleigh Bells, Not Church Bells, For We Lived In A Part Of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Where There Were No Churches.

Human Life Is Too Difficult For People.

I Can Still Remember The Feel In My Hand Of That Most Wonderful American Coin Ever Minted, A Nickel With A Buffalo On One Side And The Head Of An Indian On The Other. That Nickel Was A Daily Proof Of Our Country's Past. Bring It Back!